Spires and skies. Rooks. Woodpigeons. Binbagged haybales.
Noah drank of the wine and became drunk. Genesis nine. In his defence, it may well be that Noah had had enough of water.
I usually work on the train. Well – usually I don’t take the train; I drive, like most people – but now that I’ve been on the wrong end of a disagreement with a breathalyser and a truculent constable (don’t get me started), I take the train, and usually, when I’m on the train, I work. I’ll have an article to finish, or proofs to correct, something like that. Actually the proofs of my new book are in my briefcase: it’s called ‘Slaves Cannot Breathe’.
There’s a story there. My editor, Evan, was four-square against…
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